Stand-up comedians are very keen on creating new material; that new bit can be the most exciting thing they’ve created, because it’s a spark of magic, the newest bit of the set. They learn to notice *everything*. Then they see the patterns. Then they create a perspective which delights their audience.
For your material, do the same. Start by trying to notice what’s going on around you. Perhaps not ‘everything’, just more.
Most people think creating material requires something dramatic: a catastrophe, a standing ovation, or a near-death experience involving an audience at a conference. It doesn’t. Most material is there, and if you stop scrolling and look around, you might actually notice it.
The problem isn’t that nothing’s happening. It’s that everything’s happening, all the time, and we’ve trained ourselves to ignore it like background music in a lift. You walk past a conversation on the train that would be absolute gold if you’d heard it on a podcast, or queue behind someone who’s having a full existential crisis over which meal deal sandwich represents their best life choice, or watch someone swear repeatedly at a printer. That’s the stuff. The skill isn’t to be interesting; it’s to be nosy; gently, kindly, and without a notebook that makes people uncomfortable.
Start with yourself; you’re a walking case study in human behaviour. Notice what you do when you’re nervous – the way your voice goes up half an octave, the sudden interest in your hands, the urge to say “does that make sense?” even though everyone is nodding. That’s material; not because it’s remarkable, but because it’s common, and people love seeing their own weirdness reflected back at them. Then widen the lens.
Watch how people enter rooms: some arrive like they’ve been summoned by a gong, others drift in as if they’ve been there all day and you’re the one who’s late. Watch how people sit in meetings: the leaners, the slouchers, the ones who sit bolt upright like they’re about to be inspected. None of them chose that consciously, which is precisely why it’s interesting.
Listen to language. Not the big speeches, the throwaway lines. “I’ll just jump in.” “Sorry, quick one.” “This might be a stupid question.” These phrases are tiny windows into how safe someone feels. They’re signals. If you notice them, you start to see patterns everywhere.
And here’s the fun bit: once you start noticing, you can’t stop. You’ll catch yourself observing yourself observing. You’ll realise half your thoughts are negotiations with yourself, and the other half are commentary on how you’re being perceived. Congratulations, you’re now a content farm.
The world doesn’t need you to manufacture stories; it needs you to notice them, polish them slightly, and hold them up as if to say, “Have you seen this? Here’s what I think it means.”
Material isn’t created. It’s quietly collected, while everyone else is on their phone, assuming nothing interesting is happening.
And something interesting is always happening.